


yesterday (was hard on all of us)

by alaseux



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, also the summary is bizarre but i promise the story makes sense, basically: riko's a prick, idk if u guys know this about me but i would die for jean moreau, so it hurt to not have him as an Actual Active Character in this, so just like....... read it lmao, that's it that's the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 18:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15734772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alaseux/pseuds/alaseux
Summary: “When Kengo died and the Moriyama power shifted to Ichirou, someone got anxious and ratted on Riko Moriyama and then we traced the information straight to Jean. With the information we have, plus a solid witness who’s willing to testify, we can bust Riko and Tetsuji’s little gang right up.”“What are we going to do about it?” Renee asked. “We have to get Jean out, too.”(in which the Foxes are a powerful team of spies and Riko is his own special brand of criminal)





	yesterday (was hard on all of us)

**Author's Note:**

> hello !!!! this is my work for the 2018 aftg big bang :) the title comes from fink's song of the same title  
> heads up: there are some mentions of noncon in here plus some past riko/neil which I Do Not Endorse in this universe!!!!! and all the typical violence in canon is here too,,, just a warning  
> (also i wrote like 4k of this while listening to ariana grande's sweetener album so like........ use that info as u will)

“Stop being a showoff,” Allison drawled through the earpiece. “You and I both know the vent is unnecessary for this assignment.”

“Well, I have to test my skills sometimes,” Neil replied, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he carefully unscrewed the last bolt and slipped it into his pocket, “or else I’ll forget everything I’ve learned. You know what Professor always says—”

“Practice doesn’t make perfect,  _ perfect _ practice makes perfect,” Allison finished for him, and he could practically hear her roll her eyes. “Yeah. He’s a dumbass.”

“But a good agent,” Neil allowed, because he wouldn’t be alive if not for Kevin. “Anyway, do you have eyes on the basement, Citadel?”

“Why, so you can check up on your  _ man?” _ Allison drew out the word, voice low and dirty.

Neil stood on his tiptoes to push the newly-freed cover up into the vent, curled into a small ball of muscle, then bent his legs and jumped straight up into the waiting vent. “No,” he said softly, reattaching the cover with quick, capable hands and a tiny screwdriver. “Just wondering if the hostages are still alive.”

Allison choked a bit. “Oh, fuck, I forgot about them. Hold on a bit. I’ll comm Pastel.”

Shaking his head and smiling a bit despite himself, Neil tucked the screwdriver back into his sleeve after finishing his task, then set off through the vent in an army crawl, forearm over forearm in the cold metal shaft. He’d done this so many times that it felt like breathing by now, normal and reflexive.

“Hey, Phantom, you there?” Allison’s voice crackled back to life in his ear. “The hostages are all still alive, and Maserati and Pastel are waiting for the signal from you.”

“Tell them it’ll be a second,” breathed Neil, because voices carried in vents. He’d learned that the hard way when he was young and green. “I’m almost there, but I’m probably going to have to take out some officers first.”

“Be careful, kiddo. These guys are rough.”

“Fucking Interpol.” Neil paused for a second to brush away the stray curl of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes, scowled at the mention of that joke of a police organization, then started crawling again.

“Fucking Interpol,” Allison agreed. 

Neil finally found the room he needed, peeked down through the vent cover, and rolled his eyes. There were only four men guarding the small briefcase that had caused the American government so much trouble. Neil had been expecting something a little closer to a challenge, but at least this way, he could get the job done quick.

He debated his choices, then decided to go with the flashiest option, pulling some poppers filled with gunpowder from the little sack at his waist. He lined the edges of the cover with them, then lit one of the fuses and crawled back so he wouldn’t be blinded, and a moment later, they went off, popping the cover right off its hinges and sending it to the floor below with a hollow clang. Neil was a second behind it, landing in a silent crouch to find all four men with their guns trained on him, and he let out a laugh as he swung his leg directly into the temple of the first man he saw. He lashed out with both arms, knocking all the guns to the floor, landed a couple rapidfire punches and kicks, and then the four men were down, unconscious on the ugly brown carpet.

“You good, little man?” Allison asked, after the fight was over.

“Yeah,” Neil said, dragging the bodies to the corner and quickly handcuffing them to the legs of the table. “Guards are knocked out. Tell Professor to rendevouz with me on the first floor. I’ll give him the briefcase there.”

“Got it. Can I give Maserati and Pastel the all-clear?”

Neil decided not to take the vent route again and left the cover laying on the ground, then headed out the door, carrying the briefcase. “Yeah. Let me know if they need any help, okay?”

“Mm,” Allison replied absently, attention most likely focused on telling Kevin where to meet him, and getting the signal to Andrew and Renee. Neil heard the distant clack of computer keys through the earpiece as he slinked down the hallway, footsteps silent against the hardwood floor. He reached the stairs and creeped down them to find Kevin waiting for him at the bottom, gun gripped in both hands.

“Here,” Neil said, and handed off the briefcase. Kevin nodded, took it from his hands, and ran off to bring the case to a secure location. Neil’s job was officially done, but he wanted to stay close to Andrew and Renee in case something went wrong, so he climbed into another vent and crawled his way to a good view of the basement with the help of Allison’s directions.

He stayed tucked up in there for a bit, watching Renee and Andrew fight their way through about fifteen rogue Interpol police officers, legs tensed in case he needed to get down quickly to help. Eventually all of them were down, and Renee and Andrew were left panting, covered in blood and sweat. Neil decided that they were safe now, so he crawled back up to the first floor and hopped out of a vent into a hallway for the second time that night, loose-limbed and looking forward to finishing the mission.

Then there was a violent bang from behind Neil, and one of his legs buckled under him without his permission. He registered the pain a second later, already spinning on his good leg to see a techie-looking officer with a gun in her trembling hands. She’d clearly never shot anyone before, but Neil didn’t think about that, just pulled out the pistol he kept tucked into his belt for emergencies and fired a few rounds directly into her chest. The life vanished from her eyes, and she fell.

“Shit,” Neil whispered, forgetting about the gun in his hand in favor of inspecting his now-bleeding his leg. The bullet had just barely grazed the side of his calf, and although it hurt, he wasn’t really worried about the wound, because it would heal. It was the damage to his skintight black bodysuit that he winced at; he’d had it commissioned specifically for his body, and it fit like an extremely expensive glove. He’d have to send it back to the man who’d made it for repairs, and it would be a while before it would be fixed, which was annoying.

“Phantom, if you don’t respond right this second, I’ll hire my own fucking hitman to take you out, you stupid little bitch baby,” Allison hissed through the earpiece, and Neil realized she’d been calling his name for a while.

“Sorry, Citadel,” he replied, setting off down the corridor again. “Got a little shot. I’m fine, though. See you outside.”

“A little shot?” Allison sounded exasperated.

“The bullet barely even hit me. Don’t freak out. I’m almost to the van; you can scream at me then,” offered Neil, ignoring Allison’s little huff of anger, gritting his teeth against the steady pain in his leg, limping outside to find that it was pouring rain. Thankfully, it was the middle of the night, so he didn’t have to worry much about staying hidden. Handgun still gripped in his palm, he ignored the pain in his leg and made it a few hundred feet down the road, finally climbing awkwardly through a bush to find his team’s unmarked, oversized black van behind it. 

He rapped his knuckles against the side of the van twice in rapid succession, paused for a second, then knocked again once, their signal for “yes, I survived the mission, yes, I want to be let into this deathtrap of a vehicle, and no, I’m not being forced to lead someone bad here in order to retain my grasp on life.” It was also known as the all-clear knock.

The back door of the van opened with a quiet click, and Neil climbed inside stiffly, hand pressed to his calf to slow the bleeding. Allison was sitting at her little table in the corner, engrossed in her work, but Matt saw him instantly and his eyes went wide.

“Christ, Neil!” he whisper-shouted, grabbing the first aid kit from a shelf and pushing Neil gently into a chair at the same time. This was almost normal for them by now, because Neil was notorious for this sort of thing. “What happened? I heard Allison yelling at you, but she wouldn’t tell me what happened.”

“Probably because she knew you’d go crazy like this,” Neil pointed out, grabbing the ever-present bottle of whiskey from a shelf as Matt began to pour alcohol over the wound to clean it. It stung like hell, and Neil dug his fingers into Matt’s shoulder to keep from screaming. “I know that was on purpose, asshole,” hissed Neil.

Matt shrugged, not unkindly, and set the alcohol down, pulling an old shirt from the kit and handing it to Neil. Then he took a needle and thread from the kit, and Neil winced. “Serves you right for getting hurt, kiddo.”

“It’s not my fault,” Neil protested, rubbing the rain off his face with his unbloodied hand. “Some little Interpol techie decided she could fire a gun.” Then he took a long swig of the whiskey, stuck the shirt in his mouth to keep from biting his tongue, and braced himself for the necessary bite of the needle.

“I believe you,” Matt mumbled, focused on stitching Neil back together. “Still happened, though.”

Neil, unable to speak, just rolled his eyes, digging his fingers into his thigh to divert the pain. Finally, when Matt was done, he traded the needle for a long stip of gauze from the kit, wrapping it securely around Neil’s calf. “Allison, we gotta get him a bit more self-preservation.”

“He does have  _ some,”  _ said Allison, ungluing herself from her desk and turning towards them. “It’s called Andrew.”

Neil didn’t want to talk about this. “How are he and Renee doing?”

“They’re on their way back,” Allison said, fiddling with her earpiece and refusing to let Neil change the subject of conversation. She gestured at Neil’s leg. “You know Andrew’s going to pissed at you for that, right?”

“I’m not a child,” Neil said, wiping off the hand he’d used to slow the bleeding with a towel. “I can look after myself.”

“Not true,” Matt and Allison said simultaneously.

As Neil opened his mouth to reply, the all-clear knock came from the back of the van, and Matt reached over Neil, opening the door to reveal Andrew and Renee. They were drenched; Andrew’s hair was plastered to his forehead and Renee’s shirt was soaked through. Neil snickered a little at the state of waterlogged Andrew as the two climbed in, and Andrew shot him a harsh look. 

“What happened,” he said, nodding at Neil’s leg, and it wasn’t a question.

“Nothing,” said Neil, at the same time as Matt interjected, “Your boy is kind of stupid, Minyard.”

Andrew tapped his foot against the floor, waiting.

“I just got a little shot,” Neil amended. “No big deal. I’m fine.”

Andrew’s eyes flashed. “By whom?”

“Interpol techie. She’s dead now.” Neil was a little ashamed of how lightly he was able to speak of killing someone, but he forced the guilt down. There was no room for that in their line of work. “The bullet barely hit me, Andrew.”

Andrew looked at Matt for confirmation, and Matt obliged, saying, “It only grazed his calf. I stitched him up, and he’ll totally live, but he lost blood, so I recommend rest. Soon.”

“Where are the hostages?” Neil asked, eager to change the subject. Again. He wanted to ask about the shiner blossoming on Andrew’s left eye, but he saved that topic for later.

“We passed them over to the local police,” Renee said. “They were shaken, but uninjured. The police will get them home safely.”

“Good work, everyone,” Allison said. “Wymack will be happy. Let’s go back to the motel and get some sleep, shall we?”

They settled into their chairs against the wall and Matt went around to the front of the van to hop into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life, but then, a moment later, it shut off again.

Matt slid open the limousine-esquely tinted glass that divided the back of the van from the front. “Holy shit, you guys,” he said. “We forgot Kevin.”

Allison bent over in her seat, cackling. “Of course we did,” she said, when she regained her breath. “Hold on, I’ll comm him.” She fiddled at her ear for a second, then said, “Professor, where you at?” She stared into space, listening, then nodded. “Okay, we’ll meet you there.”

“Is he alive?” Matt asked, a hint of laughter in his voice.

“Unfortunately, yes,” replied Allison, with a dramatic sigh. “We’ll rendezvous with him up about two miles down the road. He’s got the briefcase.”

“Holy shit,” Matt repeated, grinning. Then he turned on the engine again and they were off.

They picked up a soaked, scowling Kevin a few minutes later. He was clutching the briefcase in the dark, looking a bit a child lost in the night. When Allison told him so, Kevin just rolled his eyes, climbing into his spot in the van silently, clearly ignoring the rest of the team. Matt sped off into the night and Andrew just shrugged and left him to his own devices, but Neil turned to talk to Kevin.

“Hey, Kev,” he started. “Assignment go well?”

“Until you forgot me,” Kevin said, a little viciously. Allison, who was listening to their conversation, snorted. 

“Sorry about that,” she said. “Accident. Did you pass off the file?”

“No, I just ran five miles for no reason,” replied Kevin, with a significant amount of sarcasm. “Of course I passed off the file. I’m not  _ stupid.” _

“Debatable,” Allison mumbled under her breath. Neil snickered, but he was glad to be sitting between them, because Kevin might have punched her for that comment had he heard it. 

They drove back to the motel, where Matt marked the van behind the shady-looking building and climbed out of the driver’s seat.

Kevin stood, stretched, and said, “Meet here at seven on the dot tomorrow morning. We’ve got a flight to catch.”

“We literally control the plane,” Allison complained. “Can’t we leave at a more forgiving time? Say, ten? Have a heart, Day.”

“No,” said Kevin. “Seven.” He climbed out of the van, effectively ending the conversation, and Matt groaned and banged his head gently against the side of the vehicle.

Renee and Allison left together, hand-in-hand, chatting quietly about the mission or maybe the next color they were going to paint their nails. Andrew looked at Neil from across the van, waiting.

“Nice shiner,” Neil said.

“Nice fucking bullet wound,” Andrew replied. 

“It’s not an issue,” said Neil. When Andrew raised an accusatory eyebrow, he insisted, “It barely hurts, Andrew. I’ve had worse. So what happened to your eye?”

“It’s not an issue,” Andrew said, stealing Neil’s words right from his mouth. “What about the stitches, Josten? I’m assuming you had those done with just that bottle of whiskey as a painkiller.”

_ “Andrew,” _ said Neil, with weight. “I would tell you if something was wrong. It’s started hurting a bit more, but it’s fine. Trust me?”

Andrew’s jaw twitched, but he nodded, and Neil smiled, grateful. He and Andrew stood up, and Neil’s bad leg wobbled beneath his weight. “I might need some help getting to the room, though,” he admitted.

Holding out an arm, Andrew said, “I hate you.”

“Mm,” Neil hummed, taking Andrew’s offered arm and bracing himself on it to walk through the back of the van. Andrew got out first, and raised his hands to lift Neil out, too. Once he was on the ground, Neil smiled at Andrew. “Thank you,” he said.

Andrew just huffed out a breath and helped Neil to the building, where he analyzed Neil’s leg and the incline of the two sets of stairs they were about to ascend. “Yes or no?” he asked.

“Yes?” Neil said, confused.

Andrew pulled Neil towards him, hooked one strong arm under his knees and the other behind his back, and lifted him into a princess carry. Neil resisted the urge to grin and buried his face into Andrew’s shoulder as Andrew carried him up the stairs. Once they arrived at the door to their room, Andrew nudged Neil’s hip against the doorknob; Neil took the hint and pulled out the key from his pocket, and let them inside. Andrew set him down on one of the two beds.

“Thank you,” said Neil for the second time in as many minutes, and Andrew nodded.

“Shower?” asked Andrew, and Neil leaned back onto the pillows, soreness settling into his muscles like a hollow thing.

“If you’ll wash me,” he replied sleepily. “I’ve conquered too many vents today to lift my arms.” 

“You’re a spoiled brat,” Andrew said, but he followed Neil into the bathroom anyway. 

Neil leaned his back against the sink counter, fumbling at the unwieldy zipper of his bodysuit with fingers that shook with fatigue. Noticing Neil’s trouble, Andrew lifted his chin in a silent question, Neil nodded, and Andrew tugged the zipper down for him before pulling him carefully out of the suit. He taped up Neil’s bandaged leg with the plastic bag usually used for ice, then helped Neil step into the tub.

“Bath?” Neil asked, sitting down. Andrew paused, considering.

“Yes,” he said finally, plugging the drain and turning on the faucet. Neil closed his eyes as the warm water rushed over his aching legs, and he heard Andrew’s clothes hit the floor before he slid into the tub behind Neil.

“Yes or no?” Andrew said into his ear. 

Neil smiled a sleepy smile. “Always yes,” he reminded him, and Andrew wrapped his arms around Neil’s waist and pulled him back against his chest. Neil sighed contently and pressed a soft kiss to Andrew’s neck, leaning into him.

Minutes or maybe days later, Neil yawned and shifted his weight. “We should probably get clean, or else I’m going to fall asleep right here.”

Andrew growled a little under his breath in obvious reluctance, but he reached for the shampoo and washed Neil’s hair, then gently ran the bar of soap over Neil’s body before apparently deeming him acceptable. He washed himself, unplugged the drain, lifted an exhausted, pliant Neil out of the bathtub, and wrapped him in a towel.

They put on pajamas and climbed into bed together. After kissing for few heated minutes, Andrew pressed his lips to Neil’s wrist in a silent command to rest, and Neil fell asleep almost instantly, Andrew’s fingers loosely tangled in his own.

The next morning dawned bright and early, and Andrew woke Neil a few minutes before seven, holding a cup of coffee in each hand as Neil yawned himself into consciousness. Neil blearily reached out, Andrew pushed one of the coffees into his hand, and Neil took a huge gulp in an attempt to revive himself, promptly burning his tongue on it. 

“Fuck,” Neil mumbled dully, staring into the cup with a newly-formed vendetta burning in his eyes. “Of all the things I could be betrayed by, coffee is the one that hurts the most.”

“Drama queen,” Andrew replied, blowing on the drink to cool it off for him. “Hurry up. We have to leave soon.”

Groaning, Neil got out of bed, clutching his coffee. His wounded calf was aching, and he felt annoyingly unsteady on his feet. Andrew sighed, put down his cup, and helped Neil into plane-travel clothes: soft black joggers and an oversized sweatshirt. They packed up their things and headed out to the van.

Everyone but Kevin was there already, shivering in the early morning chill. Allison looked perfect as always, and Renee was leaning against her, stealing her body heat with a small smile. Matt was leaning against the hood of the van, scrolling through his phone and laughing softly at something on it. Neil allowed himself to look at them for a second, taking in their quiet compatibility and trust, wondering how he had made it this far. Andrew sensed his thoughts and pulled him a little closer to his side, and Neil smiled into his cooling cup of coffee at the gesture.

“Where’s Kevin?” Matt asked, looking up from his phone. It felt like they were saying that a lot, lately.

“We’re not his keepers,” Neil said. “You’re the one rooming with him.”

“He was supposed to be up by now,” groaned Matt, dragging his feet like a child as he went up upstairs. He returned five minutes later, with a barely-awake Kevin trailing behind him, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“Be out here at seven on the dot or we’ll leave you behind,” Neil said in an almost offensively accurate intimidation of Kevin, loud enough for everyone to hear. Allison snickered into Renee’s hair, and Matt’s mouth creased at the corners as he made a valiant effort not to laugh. 

“Fuck you,” Kevin said sleepily, climbing into the van.

Andrew poked at Neil’s ribs until Neil handed him his own duffle bag, which he dropped on the ground in favor of helping Neil into the van. Everyone else settled in too, and then they were off to the airport. 

“Wymack says hurry,” Renee said, a few minutes into the ride, looking at her phone with a frown. “We have a new mission. It’s urgent.”

“Any other details?” Kevin asked, and all of a sudden, everyone was fully awake.  _ Urgent  _ was never good for people like them; it was rarely good, and it always managed to shock them into alertness.

“No,” she replied. “Just—hurry, Matt.”

“You got it,” Matt said through the partition, and pushed down hard on the gas.

They reached the tiny Daytona Beach airport in record time, cleaned out the van quickly, and returned it to the rental place before walking into the airport and up to security. Renee looked calm standing in line, but her fingers were twisted into the straps of her bag hard enough to turn her knuckles white, her telltale sign of anxiety. Andrew murmured something into her ear, and she nodded, looking up at him gratefully. 

Allison rested her chin on Neil’s shoulder. “Hey, kid. How’s the leg?”

“Good,” Neil said, leaning into her. “Little sore, but it could be worse.”

“Glad to hear it,” she replied. “What do you think it’s about? The urgent thing?”

“I don’t know,” Neil said. “Kind of don’t want to, either.”

Allison hummed her agreement, and then their little group reached the front of the security line. 

Matt, without preamble, dropped his duffle onto the table to be searched, followed by his gun and badge. “FBI, don’t arrest us for carrying, et cetera, et cetera,” he said to one of the TSA agents, with a charming grin tacked on just for kicks.

Kevin rolled his eyes but did the same, and so did the rest of them, waiting as the newly-blushing TSA agent checked over their badges with a shy smile and ushered them through the metal detector. Once they’d been reunited with their bags and guns, the team walked down the hall to their gate, side-eyeing other airport patrons with all the grace of people that were used to the weight of guns in their hands and the law (usually) on their side.

Eventually, they were ushered onto the plane, and Neil automatically intertwined his fingers with Andrew’s as they started to take off. Andrew didn’t look at him, just stared at their hands and bit his lip. Andrew hated flying, and yet somehow, he did it almost weekly. It had never really gotten better over time for him, but Neil found that holding his hand helped a bit. 

They landed after three hours in the air, and Andrew, as usual, was the first one off the plane. Neil was close behind, and they waited in front a small breakfast place for the rest of the team. After meeting up, Matt drove them in their new van to Quantico as quickly as he could without breaking one of the laws that they had sworn to follow. Everyone was nervous; Kevin was tapping his hands against the leather vinyl of the van’s seats, Allison was picking at her nails, and Renee was back to twisting her fingers together. Although Andrew looked as apathetic as ever, he had an arm wrapped around Neil’s waist, and that said more about his state of anxiety than any facial expression ever would.

Wymack was waiting for them in the parking garage when Matt pulled into a spot, arms folded over his chest. He didn’t look angry, but his brow was furrowed and his eyes were concerned. Once the team had tumbled out of the van and assembled themselves in front of Wymack, he nodded.

“Thanks for getting here so fast,” he said. “Mission went well, I heard?”

“Excellent, sir,” Kevin replied for them, always eager to impress an authority figure. “But they forgot—”

“It went great, Wymack,” Allison interrupted quickly, “but we can debrief later. What’d you need us here for?

Wymack’s forehead wrinkled minutely, but otherwise, he hid his worry well. “I’ll tell you inside. Hurry up and get your scrawny asses in there. The rest of the team missed you.”

Everyone except Andrew forced a laugh, and they went inside, flashing their badges and venturing through the second metal detector/identity check combo of the day, then heading to their underground headquarters. Wymack’s group of misfits (sometimes called the Foxes because they were light on their feet and even lighter with their hands, and were easily distracted by shiny things) was unusually big for an FBI team, so they had a large meeting space; the other groups complained, but at the end of the day, the Foxes got the job done, so they stayed. 

Their rooms were located at the very end of the hall, two stories beneath the ground. At first, when their team had just been formed, Wymack had complained about being so far removed from the rest of the other teams, but then he saw how badly they interacted with everyone else who wasn’t a Fox, and decided that being cut off from the rest of the gun-carrying government workers was a very good idea. 

Dan was waiting at the door to their rooms, and her face broke into a huge grin when she saw her team; she rushed forward and jumped at Matt, who lifted her up and spun her around. She let go after kissing him hard, and then reached out to Neil, who obediently wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her.

“Good to see you guys in one piece,” Dan said, after hugging Renee and Allison. She always greeted the team like this after an assignment, even if they’d only been gone a couple days. They were family, and families hugged each other, she would say, smiling. Dan smiled a lot. Neil loved her for it.

“What’s the deal with this urgent thing, honey?” Matt asked, pulling her back to his side and pressing a kiss to her wild curls.

Dan’s lips quirked into a frown, which wasn’t a usual expression for her. It looked weirdly out of place on her mouth.“The rest of the team already knows, so I guess you should, too,” she sighed. “We found Jean Moreau.”

Kevin blinked a few times, and Neil sucked in a breath. 

“Shit,” Allison said, holding Renee’s hand tightly.

“Where?” Neil said, at the same time Kevin said, “How?”

“Tiny town called Greenwood, Arkansas,” replied Dan. “When Kengo died and the Moriyama power shifted to Ichirou, someone got anxious and ratted on Riko Moriyama and then we traced the information straight to Jean. With the information we have, plus a solid witness who’s willing to testify, we can bust Riko and Tetsuji’s little gang right up.”

“What are we going to do about it?” Renee asked. “We have to get Jean out, too.”

Matt nodded. “Yeah, but we have to be careful with this. The Moriyamas have connections everywhere. If they catch us sniffing around, they’ll instantly be in the wind and we’ll lose Jean.”

“Then we’ll be careful,” insisted Neil. “We have to get there soon, Wymack. The Moriyamas will know someone tattled soon, if they don’t already.”

“I know,” Wymack said. “Which is why the whole team has a flight to Arkansas today. Go home, eat some junk food, get some sleep, and be here at nine tonight. You’re flying commercial, so if you’re late, then I can’t delay the plane for you. Get outta here. And for God’s sake, take a shower. Jesus, Kevin, you smell like a sewer.”

They scattered, chatting nervously amongst themselves about Jean and Riko and the possibility of Kevin postponing his mental breakdown until the end of the mission. Neil and Andrew, driving home, both agreed that it would probably happen today, which meant he would be raw and emotional for the flight, but it was better than holding in his anxiety until it suffocated him.

They stopped for lunch at a little sandwich stop on the outskirts of D.C., and Andrew didn’t point out that Neil barely ate. He silently agreed with himself to force some food into Neil before the day was done, but not now; Neil was as affected by Jean’s reentry into their lives as Kevin, although he was much better at hiding it than the other agent. Eating was probably hard when your childhood best friend was definitely being tortured a thousand miles away, so Andrew cut him some slack, but just barely. He was still pissed at Neil for getting himself shot.

“Hey,” Neil said, studying him. “I’m okay. I know we’re gonna get him out.”

Andrew leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Never pegged you as an optimist.”

“Not an optimist,” replied Neil. “Just faithful in the team’s abilities.”

“And how are you going to save Moreau with a bullet wound?”

Neil winced. “Honestly, I forgot about that,” he admitted. “But it barely hurts. I just need some sleep and I’ll be good to go. My suit’s just gonna have to stay a little ripped for the mission, I guess.”

Andrew eyed him silently.

“I’m  _ fine _ , Drew. Really. It barely grazed me, and it’s not like there’s anyone on the team who can do recon like me, anyway.”

With a sigh, Andrew took a last sip of his soda, stood up, and looked at Neil. “Let’s get you some sleep, then, idiot. Fucking Frenchie is going to need all the recon he can get.”

Neil and Andrew had never really considered themselves to be napping people, but after joining Wymack’s team, it felt like that’s all they did anymore. They’d become pros at falling asleep in record time, and they could snatch hints of rest from anywhere, as long as they felt safe enough to do so. They had eight hours until they had to be on a plane again, so as soon as they got back to their little apartment in the heart of the city, the two agents set about performing the usual dance: after showering and changing into clean, comfortable clothes, Andrew pulled the blackout curtains in their bedroom closed, Neil turned off the lamps and set an alarm to wake them up at four, five hours before the flight, and then they climbed into bed together. Their two cats meowed and hopped onto the foot of the bed, curling up between their legs on top of the blankets.

Turning over to face Andrew, Neil sighed. “Drew,” he said.

Andrew blinked his hazel-gold eyes open. “I am trying to sleep, Josten,” he said irritably.

“You’ll help Jean, right? If it comes down to it?” Neil tried to keep the fear from his voice, but Andrew saw right through his efforts. As always.

“If it comes down to it,” Andrew agreed. “If you want him out of there untouched, then that is how he’s going to be. Now be quiet and sleep, or I am not going to let you go on the mission.”

Neil smiled gently, gratefully, then whispered, “Drew? Hand?”

Andrew rolled his eyes, but he threaded his fingers through Neil’s and let his eyelids flutter shut again. Neil laughed softly, and fell asleep in seconds.

For the first time in a while, Neil dreamed of his childhood home. He’d grown up with Riko and Kevin, and later, Jean, and memories of climbing trees in the orchard behind Tetsuji’s mansion and screaming beneath Riko’s knives had embedded themselves into Neil's mind a long time ago. But even though he had talked to Jean on the phone just about every day since he was twenty, and worked with Kevin on the regular, Neil hadn’t thought about them in the context of his former home in a while. Neil had been given to the Moriyamas when he was eight, but he’d left what Riko, Kevin, and Tetsuji called the Nest and what he and Jean called hell when he turned twenty. That was six years ago, but sometimes it felt so fresh and raw that Neil could still feel Riko’s claws hooked into his skin.

In this dream, he was with Jean in their bedroom, sitting on the floor in front of his twin bed and running his fingers over the grey carpeting.  _ Oh, this one. He’d had this one before. Probably because it had happened to him in real life. _

“Nathaniel,” said Jean. Snow was falling outside their window. Nathaniel was wrapped in a blanket. The house was always so cold.

“Yeah?” 

“Do you think they’re gone?” Tetsuji was taking Riko and Kevin out to see an Exy game today, and he’d left Jean and Nathaniel at home, as always.

“Probably.”

“Do you want to go make the cake?” It was Nathaniel’s birthday. He was sixteen now. He felt a thousand years old, or maybe he had only turned twelve a few days ago. It was hard to tell, sometimes. Time was strange for Nathaniel.

“If you do.”

Jean stood and reached out his hand, helping Nathaniel up. Nathaniel pulled the blanket tighter around him and followed Jean downstairs to the kitchen, and then all of a sudden they were in the gazebo in the back lawn, eating a mildly-terrible chocolate cake and watching the snow tumble down in waves over the manicured grass. It made everything seem so hard and untouchable, like those marble statues of angels that guarded cemeteries.

“Are you cold?” Jean asked him. Nathaniel had abandoned his blanket before going outside, even though it was January and he wasn’t wearing a coat.

“No,” replied Nathaniel. He was freezing. 

Then they were inside again and Jean was asking if he could hug him and Nathaniel was nodding, and then they were holding each other and Nathaniel was crying into Jean’s chest even though he wasn’t sad, and Jean was whispering  _ it’s okay, Nate, it’s okay, I’ve got you,  _ but Nathaniel knew better because he’d been stuck here for six years and it wasn’t getting any better over time, especially since Riko had found out very quickly that Nathaniel would do anything to ensure Jean’s safety. Then Nathaniel was underneath Riko, naked and pliant and absent and silent. And then the dream was over and the rest of Neil’s sleep was black and calm.

The alarm screamed through the air three hours later, and Andrew reached to turn it off, but he got tangled in the sheets and ended up falling off the bed. Neil blinked the sleep from his eyes, shaking off the dream, forcing his mind to remember that he was safe here and the now-faded scars scrawled across his body proved it.

Rubbing intrinsically at his jaw, Neil noticed an angry Andrew on the floor and snorted at the sight.

“Shut up,” Andrew hissed, and Neil grinned, turning off the alarm.

They got ready quickly, settling into an easy routine of throwing clothes and guns into bags, grabbing badges and fresh toiletries and Andrew’s glasses that he’d forgotten on the last mission. Right before they left, Neil changed his bandages; the wound was healing nicely, and he tested it with cautious fingers to find that he would be fine for another mission. He sewed up the small tear in his suit as fast as he could, hoping the quick fix would hold until he could get it to Maine for repairs.

Andrew finally dragged Neil out of the apartment at five, grumbling about pretty boys taking too long with their clothes. Neil, who was more than used to Andrew making fun of his “kinky leather sex suit,” took the teasing in stride, tossing back a few insults of his own about Andrew’s unshakable habit of forgetting at least one essential item on every trip. It was practically a tradition, now.

“I wonder what it’ll be this time,” Neil mused thoughtfully as he shoved his duffle bag into the trunk of Andrew’s black Maserati and climbed into the passenger seat. “Your driver’s license, maybe? I made sure to get your glasses, so those aren’t missing…” 

Andrew flicked Neil in the forehead, revved the car’s engine to life, and turned up the music he’d been blasting the last time they’d been out driving. Neil grabbed Andrew’s hand to kiss the mildly offending fingers that had struck him, just to see Andrew’s dramatic eyeroll, and they drove off to the airport.

After parking the car, Neil and Andrew met up with the Foxes, who were waiting in the blissfully air-conditioned terminal. D.C in the summer was quite possibly the worst place to be; the heat was wet and heavy, and weighed down the city’s population, making everyone irritable and volatile. Neil, whose body temperature always ran hotter than hell, hated it, and Andrew, whose always-black wardrobe didn’t show sweat, almost tolerated it. Almost.

The team did the usual “convince the TSA agents they were agents of the law, not murderers with guns” routine, got through security safely, picked up dinner at a Lebanese restaurant (where Allison made an obligatory joke in Renee’s general direction), and settled down at their gate with twenty minutes to spare. Neil and Andrew then wandered off in search of a Starbucks, where Andrew dumped three packets of sugar into his hot chocolate and ordered an inappropriate amount of whipped cream on Neil’s soy latte.

“So I can eat it,” he said when Neil stared at him in confusion. “I am not going to make it through this flight unless I am at least partially high on sugar.”

“A fair and valid point,” said Neil, and obediently handed over his drink. Andrew licked away at it for a few minutes before handing it back to Neil, the latte now bare of the obscene pile of whipped cream, with just a hint of white where some of it had melted into the boiling drink.

They got back to the gate right as their boarding group was called, and they lined up with the rest of the team to get on the plane. The nine of them were seated all over the cabin; they knew they’d have to spend a while with each other when they got to Arkansas, so they spread out while they could. After Andrew and Neil settled into their seats, Neil turned to face Andrew.

“How do you think Bishop is?” asked Neil, using Jean’s code name so he wouldn’t be understood by someone the team didn’t trust. 

Andrew was staring out the window. “Raven is an insecure child,” he said, using Riko’s code name in return. “And he will not be happy about being ignored by his brother. He has everything at his disposal, and yet he cannot get his hands on the thing he wants most. And you and I both know he likes to take out his temper on his playthings.”

Allison, who was sitting with Renee, a row in front of them, poked her head around the seat. “Are you talking about Bishop?”

“Yeah,” Neil said. 

“How much you wanna bet that he’s still alive?” Allison said, and then froze when she saw Neil’s face go white. “Oh, shit, Neil, I’m so sorry, I forgot about you two—”

“It’s fine,” Neil said, voice a little hard. “Just—don’t give up on him yet, okay?”

“I won’t,” Allison promised, with something like pity in her eyes, and she apologized again before turning around and resuming her conversation with Renee.

“I didn’t even think about that,” said Neil hollowly, quietly to Andrew. “That he might be dead. It didn’t even register as a possibility. I’m getting soft, Drew.”

“He will,” Andrew said, “be alive. He is a survivor, Neil, and he will not go down without a fight.”

“You’ve never even met him.”

“No, but I have listened to you and Kevin talk about him. He isn’t going to die. He isn’t going to let Raven beat him, not in the last round.”

Neil took a deep breath. “He’s not dead.”

“He is not,” Andrew agreed. “Yes or no?”

“Yes?”

Andrew pressed a kiss to Neil’s lips, intertwining their fingers under the armrest. “Do not worry about Bishop, idiot.”

Neil nodded, rested his head on Andrew’s shoulder, let out a sigh. “Thank you.”

They made it through the flight, playing music through a pair of shared headphones, Andrew concentrating on not panicking while Neil chatted with Renee about the pros and cons of wearing gloves in the field.

Hours later, they touched down in Little Rock, Arkansas, where Dan told them that they’d  _ be driving to Greenwood for about three hours so load up on coffee right now if you know what’s good for you, okay, kids?  _ And then they did, and then they piled into two Jeeps (the best Dan could acquire in such a small time frame), and then they set off to find Jean and arrest Riko Moriyama.

“So, Greenwood,” began Matt from the driver’s seat as they sped down the highway, taking a sip of his latte.

They had split into their usual groups: Matt, Allison, Renee, Andrew, and Neil were in one van, and Dan, Aaron, Kevin, and Nicky were in the other, because Matt and Dan were the only people Wymack trusted to both drive and lead the team without setting the world on fire. The groups fluctuated whenever they needed specific skill sets for a mission (for example, Kevin had joined their group on the last assignment to hand off the briefcase, because he was good at bending and scraping for his superiors), but this was usually the setup of things.

“Hold on,” Allison said, sitting on the passenger’s side and tapping away at her phone. “I’m googling it.”

“Population of 8,952,” Andrew drawled lazily, head resting against the window. “Located next to Fort Smith, a major city. Mostly made of rich white people who enroll their kids in the weirdly good public school system there.”

“Doesn’t really sound like a super great place for a sub-level of the Japanese yakuza to hide, but hey, who are we to judge?” Matt quipped.

“We are the people who judge, Matty,” Allison reminded him gently. “That’s, like, our entire job.”

“We don’t  _ judge,” _ insisted Matt. “We just punch people that we’re told to punch and then arrest who we’re told to arrest.”

“He’s not wrong,” said Renee with a soft smile that glinted in the flash of another car’s headlights.

“We also shoot the people we’re told to shoot,” relented Allison. “Don’t forget that.”

“Well, technically, you don’t,” said Neil, just to poke the sleeping lion, a grin painted across his lips like a challenge. “Techie.”

“Please don’t start this again,” Matt complained.

“I am a  _ member of this team,” _ said Allison, in a way that seemed like they’d had this argument before. Probably because they had. “I could shoot anyone. At any time.”

“Please don’t do that,” Renee said. “You’d be arrested in seconds.”

“I’m not  _ going to,” _ Allison promised. “I just want you to know that I could, because I have a badge and a gun just like you annoying field agents. So hush, Neil. Not everyone is small enough to crawl through vents like a fucking gopher, or something. I would if I could, believe me—”

“Unnecessary mental image received,” groaned Matt. “Thanks for that, I guess.”

“Fuck you,” Allison said. “You’re just our getaway car.”

“And he does a great job at it, too,” Neil put in.

“Thank you, Neil! I really do. Love you, man.” Matt reached back to fistbump Neil, and when Neil happily obliged, Allison clapped a hand over her mouth in horror at her self-proclaimed mini-me’s actions.

“You’re supposed to have my back, Neil! How could you?” Allison flopped down against the back of the seat, rolling down a window and fanning herself with the night air. “God, it’s so hot here.”

“We could open the sunroof,” offered Renee. “That’s a thing that Jeeps have. I think.”

Allison poked at the car’s screen in an attempt to open the sunroof. Instead, she accidentally hit the radio button, and a country station blared to life in terrifying surround sound that made everyone wince.

“I hate this!” Matt yelled over the sound, stabbing at the screen in an effort to turn off the music. The car went quiet a second later, and its passengers breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“Welcome to the south,” Neil said.

“Thanks. I hate it,” replied Allison.

“We should probably brief, you guys,” said Renee a few minutes later, after the car had settled down and Allison had plugged her phone into the aux cord to play music they could actually tolerate. There was a quiet calm resting over them, but not for long, and Neil dreaded what they were about to hear concerning Riko.

Andrew pushed the orange folder of papers that Dan had handed it to him at the airport into Renee’s hands, and Neil turned on his flashlight so she could see them in the dark. 

“According to the witness, who used to be one of Riko’s underlings,” Renee read aloud, and the car went eerily silent, “Riko’s group is currently residing in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Greenwood.”

“Cliché,” Allison said. Neil nodded his agreement, pushing down his panic and latching onto his team’s thick barrier of sarcasm that helped to keep the monsters somewhat at bay.

“Apparently, Riko has been smuggling drugs through the country for a while,” continued Renee, “since his father cut him off monetarily a long time ago. Now that his brother is in power, and he’s even more separated from the main family, he’s been smuggling bigger things, with the help of Tetsuji. Like weapons. And—people.”

“Jesus,” said Matt. “Please say you mean people as in, like, illegal immigrants, or something. Because I can deal with that.” 

“People as in sex trafficking,” clarified Renee, soft.

“Where are they even  _ from _ ? The people, I mean,” said Matt. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“Japan, mostly, because of his connections there,” Renee said. “Locals, too, though. Arkansans.”

“Jesus,” Matt repeated. “Was he like this when you and Kevin were…you know,  _ with _ him, Neil?”

“No,” Neil replied, staring out the window, feeling hollow and cold inside, like someone had reached down his throat and pulled out everything raw and tender that kept him alive. “Yeah, he was terrible, but he had some sense of a moral code, I think. He was a fucking mess, but he wouldn’t have run a fucking trafficking ring. Not in a million years.”

“He is out of control,” Andrew said.

“Damn straight,” Allison said.

“Please tell me that Wymack gave us permission to shoot on sight,” Matt said.

Renee shook her head and Neil bit his lip hard. Andrew glanced at him and raised an eyebrow, a silent question, and when Neil nodded, Andrew rested a hand on his thigh in wordless comfort. Neil looked at him thankfully.

“We’ve brought down rings like this before,” said Allison confidently, in an effort to revive the mood. “We can do it again. Especially since this is Jean we’re rescuing.”

“How can this exist right under the noses of those people?” asked Matt, staring at the agents in the back seat through the rearview mirror. “I know that stuff like this usually exists in the shadows, but damn, how clueless can rich white people be?”

“Pretty fucking clueless,” Neil said, speaking from bitter experience, and Matt’s eyes flooded with pity. Neil looked away quickly.

“What is our first move?” asked Andrew. 

“Well, Neil and Kevin would easily be recognized by just about anyone working for Riko,” Renee said. “So they’ll probably stay at the hotel and research. The rest of us will do recon undercover, until Neil can infiltrate the building and help us out without being seen.”

“How undercover are we going, exactly?” Matt wondered.

Renee looked like an avenging angel in the harsh gleam of Neil’s flashlight; it haloed around her hair, bent into her cheekbones, and glinted off her eyes like liquid silver as she said, “We’re going to be part of the trafficked.”

 

\---

 

A few hours later, they pulled up to the second motel of the day, parked the van in the back lot, and headed to the front desk to find that Dan and the others had already arrived and were waiting on a few couches in the lobby, keys in hand. Nicky tossed one to Andrew with a suggestive smirk that Andrew stared blankly at him for, and Allison laughed at his carefully-stony expression. 

“Early morning tomorrow, folks,” Dan said, once they’d all gotten up to their floor and were relatively safe from prying eyes and ears. “Kevin, Neil, you’re doing research here, as you already know. Neil, use this time to heal your leg; if I hear that you’re on the treadmill, I’m going to kill you. The rest of you, meet me here at seven thirty. We’re heading to find Riko.”

“Got it, boss,” Nicky said, and when he gave her a salute, Aaron rolled his eyes hard.

“I need to stay in shape, though,” Neil protested.

Kevin nodded. “He’ll be useless if he doesn’t get in at least two miles every day.”

“Shut up, Kevin,” said Andrew, lazy and unconcerned. “He is not yours to run into the ground.”

“Andrew’s right,” Matt said, sounding thankful for the blond’s intervention. “Neil, if you push yourself too hard, I swear I’ll send Command after you.”

Neil stared at him, betrayed. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” Matt confirmed, raising his eyebrows and shaking his phone warningly at Neil. “Got Wymack on speed dial.”

“You’re right; he wouldn’t do it,” Dan said to Neil. “But I would, so no running, okay, kiddo?”

“Dan,” Matt whined. “Why you gotta call my bluff like that, babe?”

Nicky laughed at that, and then the team wandered off to their respective rooms, and Neil tugged Andrew down the hallway, carrying both their duffle bags.

“Give those to me. Your arms are probably blown out from all your idiotic vent adventures,” Andrew said, and although his voice was devoid of emotion, Neil smiled and handed them over.

They let themselves into their room and dropped their keys on the little table by the door. The room itself had two queen-sized beds, a small kitchen area, and a tiny bathroom, plus a round table with four mismatched chairs sitting around it. Dan must be counting on working in Greenwood for a while, if she’d splurged on the suites this time; they were staying in the moderately-large town of Fort Smith, which had a population of 88,209 people and was about a thirty minute drive from Greenwood. They’d agreed that staying in Greenwood itself was a pretty bad idea, because everyone knew everyone’s business in small towns like that, and Riko would most likely have scouts out sniffing for any signs of trouble.

And so here Neil was, standing in a motel suite in the middle of nowhere, staring at his feet and trying to decide what he was going to do if he found Jean in one piece.

“You have to be careful,” he said to Andrew, changing into a hoodie and shorts, instead of telling him he was so anxious for his best friend that he almost couldn’t breathe. “Trafficking is dangerous, and if Riko finds out who you all are, you’re dead.”

“Don’t channel your nerves onto me,” said Andrew, sounding bored but looking almost,  _ almost _ concerned about Neil, seeing right through Neil’s disguise. “You are thinking about Jean.”

Neil sighed, bit his lip, and dropped his  _ yes, my best friend is probably dead, and yes, I’m totally fine _ act. “He’s tough, Drew. But he isn’t…”

“He isn’t you,” Andrew finished for him, setting their bags down on the kitchen counter.

“He never took as much shit from Riko and Tetsuji as me,” Neil corrected, meaning the Moriyamas and his own father, but something inside him told him that Andrew was right. “He isn’t… as used to it. I’ve been away from Riko for six years now, and Jean has either texted or called me every day of those six years until about a month ago. I know if he’s still alive, he—he isn’t going to be the same Jean I grew up with.”

“Neil,” Andrew said, curling his hand lightly around Neil’s arm as if to secure him in his own bones without holding him down. “We will get your little birdie boy out of his nest. He is strong, and he isn’t stupid. We will find him, so do not waste your energy worrying.”

Neil stared into Andrew’s tawny hazel-honey-home eyes and Andrew raised an eyebrow, asking for consent; when Neil nodded, he leaned in to place a gentle kiss on his forehead and wrap Neil up in his arms. 

“Vending machine?” asked Neil a minute later, reluctantly pulling away from Andrew, unzipping his duffle, and pulling out their joint bag of quarters that always accompanied them on missions.

“Vending machine,” Andrew agreed, and wandered out of the room without picking up his key. Neil huffed out a laugh, grabbed both of them from the little table, and followed him out.

The night was humid, but there was a cool breeze that rustled the leaves of the trees outside their door and blew a few locks of Neil’s curls into his eyes. He pushed it away from his face, trailing Andrew to the vending machine, where Neil pushed quarters into the slot to buy Andrew a Kit Kat and a bag of chips. He handed them over, Andrew began to walk back to their room and Neil followed him, and then there was a hollow  _ click _ and cold metal pressed against the base of his skull.

Andrew spun around at the sound, looking murderous. Neil knew better than to turn since it was his head that the gun was against, so he just put his hands up in compliance and waited.

“Hello, Nathaniel,” his assailant crooned, low and sultry, and Neil felt his heart drop to his feet. He would know that voice anywhere—it graced his dreams on the good days and his nightmares on the bad ones. (In his dreams, Neil listened to him beg before he put a bullet through his head. In his nightmares, it was the other way around.)

“Riko,” Neil replied, voice carefully still even though his pulse was thundering in his ears. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“The pleasure is all mine, I’m sure,” said Riko, and their dance began. Riko and Neil were two sides of the same terrifying coin, and Neil hated it, and Riko knew that he hated it and exploited that hate until Neil wasn’t sure who he disliked more: Riko or himself.

“May I ask why there’s a gun to my head?” Neil smiled his father’s smile, and even though Riko couldn’t see it, he heard it in the chill of his voice. All of a sudden Neil was gone, replaced with Nathaniel, who had come to see the dirty work done. “Surely you know a weapon like that is no problem for someone like me.”

“Someone like you,” Riko mused, carefree and calm. “A runaway with no sense of loyalty, you mean? Or are we discussing one of your other numerous personalities? The one that let me fuck him senseless until the only word he could say was my name, perhaps. Oh, that was a fun one,  _ Nate. _ I remember it well.”

Andrew snarled, pulling out a knife and taking a step towards them, but Nathaniel gestured for him to stay still. Andrew flicked his eyes up at Riko, and when Nathaniel gave the smallest shake of his head, Andrew stopped in his tracks. His eyes were burning with rage, but he knew Neil could fight his own battles, and so could Nathaniel.

“Did you come here just to bring up our past trysts, or do you have something meaningful to say? If not, feel free to waste my time. Seems to be your hobby,” replied Nathaniel, unable to resist a jab, “considering you could never get me off in the end, anyway.”

“Feisty,” Riko said, “but unfortunately, no. I hear I have something you want.”

“Your body, six feet under, with a few of my knives still stuck in your stomach?” drawled Nathaniel. “That would be wonderful, yes. Thank you so much for offering.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Riko said warningly. “Don’t pull on your leash if you want Jean back, little Butcher. You know better than that.”

“What did you just say?” Nathaniel’s heart skipped a beat or twenty.

Riko’s laugh was empty and arrogant and it made something in Nathaniel’s chest crack. “I said I have your precious Jean, and I know he’s why you all are here.

“It’s interesting, really, that you got  _ here _ at all,” Riko went on, before Nathaniel could regain his footing. “The loyalty you inspire in your team is astounding. The Foxes, correct?”

“Don’t fucking touch them,” Nathaniel ground out. 

Riko grabbed Nathaniel’s arm and spun him around so they were standing chest-to-chest. 

Looking at Riko, everything came rushing back to Nathaniel: his time spent with Riko and Kevin when they spent all their excess energy running around the back lawn playing a crude form of Exy, when they begged the fucking bodyguard to take them to the park, when they got in trouble for eating all the ice cream in Tetsuji’s freezer. When Jean came to the Nest and suddenly Nathaniel had someone to look after, even though he was younger and smaller and still so terrified of his own father. When they grew up too quickly and Nathaniel became some kind of property at age sixteen, when Riko decided that Nathaniel was his to fuck and fuck up and fuck with, when Kevin had stopped being Nathaniel’s ally and started being an anxious, submissive wreck with an alcohol problem. When Jean kissed Nathaniel for the first time, in the dim, hazy light of the moon shining in through a pair of picture windows, when Neil shuddered under his touch and dissociated for a month and a half afterwards. When Jean apologized profusely and Nathaniel refused to accept it because it wasn’t Jean’s fault, it was his own, because his mind wasn’t strong enough to realize that Jean wasn't Riko and therefore Jean would never willingly hurt his best and only friend. When Nathaniel finally turned twenty, finally got the nerve to contact Stuart Hatford, and finally got away, without Jean, a limb that he felt the absence of even now, six years later.

Riko’s nails scratched at Nathaniel’s skin like steel wires yanking him into submission, and he pressed the gun to the hollow of Nathaniel’s throat, pulling Nathaniel from his memories. “Do they know everything about you, Nate?”

“Shut up,” Nathaniel said, clenching his hands into fists. “Shut the fuck up, Riko. You don’t know anything about me.”

“I do,” said Riko, and his eyes were hungry. “And I know all about your little friend here, too, but does he know me? I’m Riko Moriyama, Andrew.” Riko looked over Nathaniel’s shoulder to stare Andrew down. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Let go of him,” Andrew said. His voice was bored, but his jaw was clenched. “Unless you are interested in losing a hand.”

Riko rolled his eyes, dismissive, and focused his attention back on Nathaniel. “Oh, the things I could tell your lover boy. Andrew, did you know that Nate likes pet names in bed? You know: baby boy, sweetheart, angel—really, I could go on and on. And he’s so, so good with a cleaver. When he wants to be, that is.”

“You pulled a cleaver on him when you were fucking?” Andrew sounded lazy and unbothered, and it brought Nathaniel out of his terror-induced haze. “Neil, you’ve been holding out on me.”

“Sorry,” Nathaniel called back, playing along because it was Andrew and Andrew was safe. “The cleaver’s only for people I want to dismember slowly. You aren’t on the list.”

“Darn,” deadpanned Andrew. “How unfortunate. I am devastated.”

The gun was lifted from Nathaniel’s throat and pointed at Andrew. “Shut up,” Riko hissed into Nathaniel’s ear. “You are reckless with your life, but not with your boy toy’s, I assume. You’ve always had that idiotic protective streak.  _ Jean _ is a testament to that.”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes, watching the rage flicker in Riko’s dark gaze. “Just go ahead and tell us why we’re here, Riko,” he said, sounding nonchalant despite that fact that his heart was fluttering in fear beneath his ribs. “I assure you, Andrew knows how to gut you just as well as I do, so stop posing and start talking before I have to clean blood out of my favorite pajamas.”

“I’m here to offer you a deal,” Riko said, suddenly flippant. “I’ll trade Jean for you, Nate.”

Nathaniel was going to say no. Really, he was. But then he remembered how Jean would tremble the morning after a particularly bad nightmare, when they were small and so, so tired, and how Jean would clutch frantically at Nathaniel’s sweatshirt when Nathaniel was dragged away to speak with Kengo Moriyama, and something in his head snapped.

Andrew saw it break, and he went still. “Neil—”

“Deal,” Nathaniel said, and Riko’s fingers dug into his shoulder like nails in a coffin.

 

\----

 

Nathaniel was starting to lose track of time, staring at the ceiling and struggling to force air into his lungs, his clothes torn and bloody. He’d been in one of Riko’s warehouses for about four days now, but his internal body clock was beginning to malfunction, thanks to Riko’s insistence on an irregular sleep pattern and minimal nourishment. The passing hours were slipping through his fingers like too-fine grains of sand, and he didn’t bother trying to hold onto them, because he could see his death on the horizon, an empty sunset at the end of a violent, desperate life.  _ At least Jean is safe _ , a gentle voice whispered in the back of Nathaniel’s head as Riko took his sweet time slicing up Nathaniel’s legs and arms and torso.  _ Andrew will take care of him _ .

(Riko wanted Nathaniel to talk about Andrew, wanted to hear Nathaniel’s voice crack on Andrew’s name, but Nathaniel refused. Andrew was Nathaniel’s last good memory and he would not let him be tainted by a monster of a man who was currently flicking a lighter over his ankles and laughing.)

Eventually, Riko left again, promising disgusting things in a sickly sweet voice that made Nathaniel’s stomach roll. He waved a bloodied knife at Nathaniel, smirking, before slipping out the door, and Nathaniel swallowed hard. He clutched Andrew’s key to their motel room in his hand like a lifeline as he closed his eyes and slipped easily back into unconsciousness, halfway convinced that the lighter was still brushing over his skin and the blades were still scraping into his flesh.

 

\----

 

Ever since he’d seen Riko again, Nathaniel’s memories from home were taking over his dreams. In this one, he was young and small and everyone at the Nest knew him as Nate, even himself; this was before Riko had adopted the nickname as his own and forbidden Kevin from using it. Eight-year-old Nate was sitting on the second floor stairs and licking at a purple popsicle, and Kevin was beside him, working his way through a green one. Nate turned to face him, frowning.

“Where’s Riko, again?” he asked for the fourth time that day.

“He left with the Master,” replied Kevin, also for the fourth time. He was a full year older than Nate and therefore he’d been left in charge of him. “They’ll be back soon.”

“Tetsuji needs to stop taking him away. I wanna play with him.”

“Don’t call him that,” Kevin objected. “It’s disrespectful. You need to call him the Master, like me and Riko do.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Nate said, sticking out his tongue at Kevin, petulant. “His name is Tetsuji, so I’m gonna call him that. Kevin, you’re so dumb.”

“No,  _ you’re _ dumb. You don’t even”—he paused to think of something he could do but Nate couldn’t—“you don’t even know Japanese that well.”

“Do  _ too!”  _ Nate stood up and recited all the colors he could remember in the language he was being forced to learn. When Kevin rolled his eyes, Nate started in on the numbers, counting up to thirty as he hopped up and down the stairs, one number for each step. When he got distracted by counting, he accidentally dropped his popsicle and promptly froze in his tracks.

“Damn,” Nate whispered, staring at the liquid spreading over the white marble. (He’d heard one of the guards say it once when she’d stubbed her toe on the couch in the parlor, and had promptly adopted it into his extremely limited curse words vocabulary.)

“You are so  _ stupid,”  _ Kevin said, looking horrified. “Oh, God, Nate. What if the Master notices the purple stain—”

“He won’t!” Nate stumbled down the stairs, disappearing in the direction of the kitchen, returning a moment later with a pristine-looking white hand towel clutched in his hands.

“We can’t use _ a towel,”  _ Kevin hissed. “He’ll  _ see the stain on it.” _

“Not if we burn it,” said Nate, getting down on his hands and knees and scrubbing at the step, turning the towel a dull shade of violet. “Or, like, bury it in the orchard. Or cut it up into little bits and throw it in the fountain in front of the house!”

Kevin rolled his eyes for the second time in as many minutes. “Fine. We’ll burn it,” he decided. “I can’t believe you. This is all your fault.”

“I think you should be glad I’m so  _ resourceful,  _ Kevin,” said Nate, sticking his tongue out again.

The scene shifted to moonlight glinting off chlorine. Nathaniel was fourteen now, sitting in between Riko and Jean on the lip of Tetsuji’s pool, their bare feet kicking lazily back and forth in the water. Jean and Nathaniel were both leaning back on their hands, pinkies touching chastely, secretly, and Kevin was inside, asleep. He hated staying up late, and it was nearing two in the morning, now.

“Riko,” said Nathaniel, staring at the water. “Will you teach me how to drive?”

“What makes you think I know how to drive?” Riko said. He’d been getting steadily moodier for almost a year, now, but Nathaniel wasn’t afraid of him. Back then, he was sure he could never be afraid of him.

“You literally drove us around today,” Nathaniel pointed out, laughing and ducking away from Riko’s incoming punch to his arm. “Please, Riko?”

“Maybe,” grumbled Riko, and Nathaniel grinned before tugging off his shirt and sliding into the pool in his shorts. He sunk below the surface and the dream was over, disappearing into a cloudy wave of chlorine.

 

\----

On the morning of what Nathaniel thought might be his ninth day in captivity, no one showed up to torture him. This was a welcome change to his normal schedule, but it also terrified him a bit, because whenever plans changed it meant that something had gone wrong. (Riko would never pass up an opportunity to get his hands on Nathaniel.)

And then there was a bang from outside the room and the door swung open and there was Matt, covered in blood, looking victorious. His eyes caught on Nathaniel and he grinned that familiar cocky grin of his. All of a sudden Nathaniel knew his Foxes—his family—would never let him stay with Riko.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, sprinting over to start uncuffing Nathaniel from the bedpost. “Been missin’ you.”

“Missed you too,” Nathaniel managed, in a scratchy, pathetic voice, and the weak part of him wanted to throw his arms around his best friend and never let go again. “You kill him yet?  
“Who, Riko?” Nathaniel nodded, and Matt patted his now-freed right wrist and set to work on the other one as he spoke. “Nah. Wymack gave us the go ahead to put a bullet in his brain as soon as that bastard stole you right from under our noses, but we figured you’d wanna kill him yourself. We have him tied up in another room for whenever you’re ready, Neilio.”

_ Neilio. _ It was just one of Matt’s nicknames for him, but it made Nathaniel’s heart throb in affection.

“We also have a first aid kit with your name on it, bud,” Matt said offhandedly, and all of a sudden, it was clear to Nathaniel how tired Matt looked. His grin was too wide and there were dark circles under his eyes, and Nathaniel realized his capture must have taken a toll on him.

“Can I shoot Riko first, though?” he asked.

“Hell, yeah,” Matt replied. “You think you can walk?”

“Uh,” said Nathaniel, rolling his ankles and wincing as the burned skin pulled taut over his bones. “Probably.”

Once Matt had released Nathaniel from his restraints, he passed him a handgun. “Wanna ride on my back? Your arms don’t look as injured as your legs, so if you hold on, I can try my best not to jostle you.”

Nathaniel sat up, swung his legs over the bed, and stood up. He sucked a breath in through his teeth to avoid screaming. “I can walk.”

“If you’re sure, kiddo,” Matt said, handing him a pair of shoes that he must have taken from Nathaniel’s luggage. He thought of everything. “Riko’s downstairs. I’m so fucking glad you’re not dead, by the way.”

“I couldn’t go out like  _ this,” _ Nathaniel joked, even though his legs were screaming in pain. “I’m supposed to die in, like, a volcano or something. Not at the hands of a knife-happy asshole with daddy issues and a Napoleon complex.”

Matt snorted gracefully and wrapped his arms around Nathaniel in a hug that sort of hurt but was completely worth it, then let go and gestured to the door. “We should get out of here.”

“Since when do you go out on missions?” Nathaniel asked, limping towards the door, gritting his teeth as his wounds screamed their protests. Matt had used to be in the field, but he’d broken his leg a few years back and when it healed a little bit wrong, he’d sworn not to go out again.

“Since that rat bastard kidnapped my best friend,” replied Matt, voice hard. “Couldn’t let him get away with that. I love you, man. Seriously.”

Nathaniel’s throat burned with gratitude. “Love you, too, Matt. I’m glad you found me.”

Matt grinned again and stepped out of the room, leaving Nathaniel to follow him. He trailed Matt down the hallway, where Nathaniel distantly noted a man’s black-clad body slumped beside the door; that must have been the noise the preceded Matt’s grand entrance. His gaze slid away from the man and back to Matt, who led him down a few flights of stairs that made his wounds feel even more fiery and raw. The bodies in black were numerous here, tucked into corners and sprawled over the landings like bloodied dolls, waiting to be picked up and maneuvered back into their proper places. Nathaniel couldn’t bring himself to care.

When they came to a small grey door at the very bottom of the stairs, Matt stopped and turned around to face Nathaniel.

“Most of the team, including Andrew, is out looking for more Moriyama trash and trafficking victims,” Matt informed him, dark eyes solemn and lined with exhaustion. “Riko’s tied up here with Renee playing guard, but when we go in, he’s all yours, bud.”

“Matt,” Nathaniel said. “Thank you.” He didn’t just mean for letting him have Riko, and Matt knew it.

“Anytime, kiddo,” Matt replied, rustling Nathaniel’s hair. “Anytime.”

And then he let Nathaniel in the door, and then Nathaniel found himself in a small whitewashed room, staring at the man who had kept him as a pet for years and tortured him within an inch of his life for the past week and a half. Riko was bloody and bruised, unconscious in a desk chair, hands bound behind him. Nathaniel’s heartbeat stuttered in his ears at the sight, and he looked to Renee, feeling weak on his feet.

“Neil,” she said, leaning against the wall. Her gentle voice clashed with the sweat on her temples and the knives hanging loosely from her fingers. “It’s good to see you.”

“You, too,” Nathaniel managed. Everything felt like a dream. Matt standing tall beside him, Riko at his mercy at last, Renee’s pastel hair stained red with blood—none of it felt real. But it was, and Nathaniel was finally safe, and he was never going to be a captive of the Moriyamas again.

Stepping up to Riko, he let a grin take over his mouth like a promise. It wasn’t a Nathan smile. It was a Nathaniel smile.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Nathaniel said, and backhanded Riko across the face. His hand stung but it was worth it when Riko came to, gasping. He heard Matt suck in a breath behind him, but he ignored it. Matt didn’t know Nathaniel, but Riko did.

“What— _ Nathaniel,”  _ Riko realized aloud, sounding hoarse and exhausted. Renee must have made him scream a lot, lately. Nathaniel knew what that felt like, almost as well as he knew his own skin.

“Hello again, Riko,” said Nathaniel. “Did you miss me?”

“You—what are you doing here? How did you get out?” Riko’s eyes were wide and terrified.

“You see,” Nathaniel began, voice low but strong, anger swelling in his chest, “I have these things called friends. When you make friends, that means they care about you, and will rescue you from psychopaths who didn’t get enough love as children and have decided to take out their issues on others. Sound familiar?”

“Please,” whispered Riko, and he was standing on the edge of a dangerously-high cliff. “I didn’t have a choice. You’re my _ brother. _ Please don’t kill me, Nathaniel.  _ Nate.” _

There it was. The fatal step, into the abyss.

“That is not my name,” Neil Josten said, and then he shot Riko four times in the chest and once in the head, just in case.

And then it was all over and Riko Moriyama was dead.

Matt wrapped Riko’s body up in a carpet, and Renee stitched up several of Neil’s wounds before vanishing to help the other Foxes. Neil settled in a corner of the room after Renee left, folding inward on himself, clutching the gun that had ended Riko’s life in both hands. And all of a sudden, Neil missed Andrew so much it hurt—Neil hadn’t allowed himself to miss him while he was under Riko’s knives, because he knew it would just make the pain worse. But now that Neil knew he was going to live, it felt like he might burn away without Andrew’s hand on the back of his neck and his unyielding presence by Neil’s side.

Matt noticed this, because Matt noticed everything, and he came to sit beside Neil in the corner.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, quiet. “How you holdin’ up?”

“I’m alive,” replied Neil, finally putting the gun down, and his voice held a note of wonder that made Matt’s eyes go soft.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Dude, you’re so fucking alive. You’re, like, off the alive charts right now.”

Neil leaned into Matt, who hugged him as gently as he could. “Where’s Andrew?” Neil asked.

“Just texted him,” Matt said, holding up his phone. “He’ll be here in ten.”

Something small and hopeful quivered in Neil’s chest for the first time in nine days, and a smile pulled itself onto his lips—a real one, this time. Not a Nathaniel grin, but a Neil smile.

And so Neil sat there for those ten minutes, pressing his fingers to his mouth to make sure his expression was still all his own, thinking about steady, beautiful Andrew and his steady, beautiful hands and his steady, beautiful weight, unyielding under Neil’s own.

And then there was a knock at the door, the same as the all-clear knock they used on the van, and Neil was up before Matt could move. He hobbled to the door, hunched over to ignore the pain because it was Andrew and Neil couldn’t let his wounds stop him from holding him close again.

Neil opened the door and there Andrew was, golden-haired and hazel-eyed and  _ amazing, _ and—

And then there was a violent bang from the stairs and all of a sudden a dark stain was spreading over Andrew’s grey shirt like spilled food coloring.

Neil felt time stop, felt the blood rushing in his ears like a symphony he couldn’t turn off, saw his hands go out to catch Andrew but couldn’t feel Andrew’s skin beneath his fingers. And Matt was behind him too, gripping Andrew’s shoulders and leaning him against the wall, and Andrew’s eyes were wide and panicked but he wasn’t saying anything. Neil yanked a gun from Matt’s waistband and shot the Moriyama agent on the stairs twice in the head, quick as lightning, before shoving the gun into Matt’s hands and taking Andrew back from him. Andrew’s hand went his stomach and came away red. Neil’s arms were holding Andrew up as best he could. Matt’s phone was at his ear, calling Renee or maybe the hospital. Andrew’s breathing was shallow. Neil couldn’t see anything but him, even though he should have been scouting the room for other hostiles, and the world around him was muted and blurred.

“Hey, idiot,” Andrew rasped, sliding down the wall to the ground. Neil went with him, moving his hands up to Andrew’s face, because what else was he supposed to do when everything he had was currently bleeding out in the basement of the headquarters for a trafficking ring?

“Andrew,” Neil said, stroking the tender skin below Andrew’s eyes with his thumbs, and his voice was calm but his hands were shaking. “Drew, you’re going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

“You look a little worse for wear, yourself, dumbass,” Andrew replied, voice a little shaky. His bloodied fingers closed over Neil’s wrist, vice-like, leaving red lines on Neil’s skin that Neil knew he was never going to be able to get off. “What did I tell you about being a martyr?”

Neil’s eyes were damp; his throat was burning. This was so clearly  _ not _ what was supposed to be happening, and a sob escaped his mouth like a betrayal. The only word he could remember was Andrew’s name, so he repeated it over and over again, pressing his forehead against Andrew’s.

“Neil,” said Andrew, significant. Neil didn’t want him to be significant, not now, not here, not when he could still smell Riko’s blood on his hands.

“Andrew,” Neil said, desperate to talk about something mundane. “I still—I still have your key. The one to the motel. It’s in my pocket, I think. I should probably give it back to you, right? Do you want it back?”

“Neil,” Andrew said. “I love you.”

“Shut up,” insisted Neil, suddenly so fucking angry, rage coating his brain like foul, thick gasoline. He was close to dropping a lit match into his veins. This was so  _ wrong. _ “Andrew, Jesus, shut the fuck up. We can’t say it like this. Not here, okay? Later. We’re going to have so much time after this.”

“I love you,” Andrew said, “Neil Josten.”

“You  _ can’t,”  _ Neil choked out. “Andrew, I swear to God—you have to be here. I don’t know what I would do without—Andrew, don’t you  _ dare _ leave me.”

Andrew’s fingers brushed over Neil’s cheek.

“I love you, too,” Neil whispered, when the anger subsided and all that was left was a feeling he didn’t have a name for. Love felt pretty damn close, though. “You’re  _ everything, _ Andrew.”

“And you are everything to me,” said Andrew, so honest that Neil felt his heart burn behind his ribs. All of a sudden he wanted Andrew’s casual  _ I hate yous  _ back so he wouldn’t have to comprehend the severity of the situation.

Andrew’s hand dropped back to his lap and his eyes closed but Neil still held him close, burying his face in Andrew’s shoulder and trembling against the person he could never afford to lose. He focused on Andrew’s breathing like a dying man focusing on a prayer; it was low and harsh and irregular, but at least it was still happening at all. For once, Neil had no idea what to do, and it felt like he was drowning in Andrew’s love and blood and what were maybe going to be his last words. 

Matt pulled Andrew from his arms a moment later, calmly telling Neil that Renee was on her way and she was going to drive them to the local hospital. Neil nodded his agreement, grabbed his gun from where he’d left it in the corner of the room, and let Matt carry Andrew out of the basement, guarding their backs so no one could sneak up on them again. He shot a few agents on their way out, but overall, their exit was quiet; it was dark out, and Renee was waiting outside the building in the Jeep. She sucked in a breath at Andrew’s condition before her eyes hardened in resolve, and took Andrew from Matt’s arms, laying him out in the back of the car, then climbing into the passenger seat. Neil sat in the back with Andrew as Matt drove as fast as the law would allow, Andrew’s legs over Neil’s lap. Neil kept his hand wrapped around Andrew’s wrist to make sure his pulse remained existent, watching Andrew’s chest rise and fall, ignoring the fact that this was the first time he’d been outside in nine days.

They drove through the night for too long, but Matt finally pulled up in front of a small hospital, where nurses rushed out and ushered Andrew back into the operating room. Neil tried to follow him back, but was stopped by a woman who told him that he would be notified when Andrew was out of surgery. Neil realized arguing with her would be futile, so he gave up and sank into a loveseat with Matt in the waiting room.

“Hey, bud,” Matt began, “modern medicine is, like, fucking amazing. Your man’s gonna be just fine, all right? Like, if doctors can put a whole new fuckin’ heart in somebody and make it start working in there and shit, then they sure as hell can bring him back from a little bullet wound.”

Neil nodded absently, staring at his feet, body aching from the sore burns and the stitches he’d pulled while struggling to keep Andrew alive. Even though he was exhausted, he couldn’t close his eyes, because every time he did, he saw Andrew’s blood leaking through his fingers and Andrew’s lips mouthing the words  _ I love you _ and all Neil wanted to do was storm into the operating room and hold him close while the world burned down around them.

At some point, Matt brought him a cup of lukewarm coffee that he sipped without actually tasting it. Everything felt grey and cold and distant, like Neil was watching his life from above. He was thinking about Andrew. He was thinking about Riko, who he had grown up with, who he had murdered only half an hour ago. He was thinking about Jean, and _ —Jean. _

“Matt,” Neil said, hollow. “Where’s Jean?”

Matt looked a little relieved; Neil hadn’t spoken for a while. “He was a little roughed up when we got him, but now he’s safe. Got him to HQ just fine. He’s with Jeremy Knox now.”

“Good,” Neil said. “Jeremy will be good for him.”

Matt looked over at Neil. “You need sleep, kiddo.”

“I’m fine,” Neil said, and promptly yawned. Matt raised an eyebrow.

“Let me hold down the fort, Neil,” he insisted. “I’ll wake you up when you need to wake up, okay? Trust me. You’ve literally been tortured for fifteen days, man. You need rest.”

Oh. Fifteen days was a bit longer than nine. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure. Take a fucking nap, Josten.” Matt patted his lap and Neil obediently laid his head there, kicking off his shoes and curling his legs up on the loveseat, grimacing at the way his healing skin pulled taut against his wounds. He got as comfortable as possible, and closed his eyes, pretending Matt’s steady breathing above him was Andrew’s. He was home, in the living room of their apartment, falling asleep in Andrew’s lap. They were alive, they were safe, they had just been watching a shitty made-for-TV movie and eating popcorn that Neil had managed to burn in the microwave. If Neil tried hard enough, he could almost feel Andrew’s fingers carding through his hair as he drifted into unconsciousness.

He dreamed of Andrew this time. Of Andrew’s hands, hot and heavy on his hips and tender against his cheeks. Of his hair, golden and shining in the D.C. sunlight. Of his hazel eyes, looking at Neil so impossibly gently as they drove out on a mission together. Of his dimples when he smiled at Neil’s attempts to feed a cat he found in an alley. Of his quiet laugh against the back of Neil’s neck, when their heating was broken in the middle of winter and Neil insisted on tucking himself against Andrew in bed for warmth.

For Neil, it was always Andrew. It was always going to be Andrew.

Matt woke him sometime later with a light shake to his shoulder, and Neil sat bolt upright, wincing at the pain that followed his abrupt movement.

Matt was smiling.

_ Matt was smiling.  _

“He’s okay,” Matt said, warm. “Andrew made it through. You can go see him now—room 107, just down that hall. He should be waking up soon.” He pointed at a whitewashed set of double doors.

Neil stood up, ran to the doors, flung them open, and all but sprinted to Andrew’s room, barefoot and uncaring. But he paused before going into Andrew’s room, taking a moment just to gaze in at him from the doorway. Andrew’s face always looked so soft in sleep. Neil tried to enjoy it every time he could. 

He finally stepped into the room, sitting on the empty part of Andrew’s bed before whispering, “Andrew.”

Andrew’s eyes had already fluttered open at the movement on his mattress. “Neil?”

“Hey,” Neil said, voice cracking on the word. “I missed you.”

“You have been gone a while,” Andrew agreed, sounding a little hoarse. “Apparently getting shot is what it takes to make a dent in your busy schedule.”

Neil laughed through the tears spilling down his cheeks. “Sorry about that. I promise the whole kidnapping thing wasn’t my go-to plan.”

“Well, getting shot was definitely mine,” said Andrew. Neil snorted and sobbed at the same time, and Andrew quirked up an eyebrow. “Attractive,” he noted.

“Shut up,” Neil said, sniffing. “I love you.”

“And I, you,” Andrew said, reaching up to brush away Neil’s tears. “I’m a bit worried about the contradicting statements, though.”

“Shut up,” Neil whispered again. “Yes or no?”

“Do you want me to answer, or do you want me to shut up? Language is intended to be used precisely, Neil. Also—yes.”

“You’re the actual worst,” Neil said fondly, and kissed Andrew as softly as he could before intertwining their fingers and telling Andrew to get some rest. 

Riko was dead, and all of Neil’s Foxes were alive. Jean was somewhere safe, healing, and soon, Neil was going to see him again for the first time in six years. Kevin was safe from Riko’s looming hand around his throat, and now he could live without seeing Riko’s shadow one step behind him all the time. Andrew was alive and breathing and  _ real,  _ golden beneath Neil’s hands, and they had an apartment with two cats and one couch and three and a half plates and seven forks and thirty-seven blankets waiting for them back in Washington, D.C. Maybe Neil and Andrew would get back into their habit of walking two blocks south to get breakfast from their favorite diner in the mornings, and Andrew would dump too much sugar into his coffee and make fun of Neil’s adoration of sunny side up eggs. They would go into work when they had to, of course, but maybe first they would take a long vacation while Andrew recovered. Perhaps Cancún, or something like that. Andrew hated cold weather, so Mexico would be perfect for him. But they had all the time in the world to figure it out, so for now, Neil just engraved the feeling of Andrew’s warm hand into his mind, and savored the image of the soft light from the sunrise outside the window slipping over Andrew’s cheekbones like gold dust.

They were going to be okay, Neil thought, and smiled to himself, settling into an armchair beside the bed to watch over Andrew as he slept.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u so much for reading!!!! leave me kudos/comments? :) love u all lots and lots!!!!!!  
> here's the art for the fic, drawn by the stunning marie: http://mariesghostsart.tumblr.com/post/177175079304/got-to-illustrate-a-piece-for-jeaneils-lovely-fic thank u sm hon!!!!


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